


After Arcana

by TheHangingMan



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Biphobia, Breaking the Fourth Wall, M/M, Multi, Other, Polyamory, Relationship(s), Soulmates, Spiritual
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-05-21
Packaged: 2020-03-02 12:36:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18811045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheHangingMan/pseuds/TheHangingMan
Summary: The simple lives with Asra Alnazar and Julian Devorak after defeating The Devil. Each chapter is a place on map.Finished Chapters:Asra's SanctuaryThe FieldsThe ShopSouth End // Rowdy RavenMazelinka’s HouseCommunity TheatrePortia’s Cottage"Julian's dancing is wild, seductive and free spirited when compared to Asra's. Asra is a constellation falling into place, while Julian is the filthy hallelujah clashing into blazes in Notre Dame."This contains spoilers for Asra upright ending and Julian upright ending.





	1. Asra’s Sanctuary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The simple lives after defeating The Devil.
> 
> "I am still thinking about the ripe women in villages, and how little it matters to us. Life of humans are insignificant, they must extend their bloodline by marriage and reproducing. In the span of their family history, they mean nothing but a carrier of a surname. But here Asra and I sit in front of each other. Our love has no obligation of procreating, and somehow made me feel like a god. Like all lives are just a vein for their bloodline, but our lives carried meanings that no other can grasp."

Nopal

Asra’s Sanctuary

Asra's calf dangles from the window, the way that the pipe dangles on his lips. The black ivory pipe is embedded in ancient symbols with gold, which I found at the red market three months ago. I imagine how the windows were carved when this sanctuary was first built - Did Asra grind the stones flat on the surface, or did he chose stones with flat faces? It makes no difference now. This sanctuary has been standing for decades, and on this evening Asra sits on the window smoking, looking out at the fields as the sun sinks. The sun has seen grander or similar shelters in its ancient gaze. I leave the bed and walk towards the source of light. Evening sun shines on our bare chests, I lay my silent head on his waist, my arms tangle around his damp torso exposed to the chilling air of stone houses. He holds me close with his hand in my hair, and we stare into the vacant lands. 

In Nopal nothing ever happens: Sun rises, the people farm until sunset, and they drink dancing at the bar. Life is simpler. In the wilderness I hear once again the songs which my grandmother sang to me when I was younger. They are songs about small villages and the changing of seasons. Men would ride on horses which trot through mountains and forests, while the maidens would ripe like flowers which they pick and place between their hair. One day the opposites would attract, and the whole village would throw them petals or rice grains at them to celebrate their fertility. 

Glee fills Faust from half a woodland away. In her stroll in nature, she spots the flower which are mentioned in my grandmother's folk songs. Faust slithers into a mangrove, nature’s flower garden, and the smell of hyacinth’s nectar filled us. Asra’s chest rises, and I know exactly why. The earthy and floral aroma which Faust is buried in, they travels from her to us. Our minds merge like a beautiful dance of synesthesia. I sit on the opposite end of the window, sunlight has betrayed us by a lack of interest in today, its trail of gold is left on the margins of land, and stars they all travel away from the sky, onto the freckles on Asra’s cheekbones. My glance fall and was locked onto the ridge of his nose, and I pick his barefoot into my arms. This is a foot sole that only a lover could learn to love. The callus is a solid follicle of yellowish gray. But the outline of his leg speaks the wonder of human beauty, his giant spade-shaped thumb toe makes his feet looks like the claw of a wolf. My nimble fingers hold his feet in place, and start kneading on the acupoints flowing through his veins. Tilting back, his face mirrors my sly one. He knows exactly what I am thinking about. I am still thinking about the ripe women in villages, and how little it matters to us. Life of humans are insignificant, they must extend their bloodline by marriage and reproducing. In the span of their family history, they mean nothing but a carrier of a surname. But here Asra and I sit in front of each other. Our love has no obligation of procreating, and somehow made me feel like a god. Like all lives are just a vein for their bloodline, but our lives carried meanings that no other can grasp.

The smoke Asra puffs are fogging his glistening lavender eyes from me. Light headed, I climb towards him like a predator ready to savor a prey, I caress his lower lip with both of mine. Our brains spin with color as our lips touch, he saw my color synesthesia.. His lips, spill into the creamy white like his hair, because lips are white in my head. And as for me, he relax every muscle of his body to let me take control. He lay down the ivory pipe ever so gently on the table beside, and his tenderness towards a gift from me pulls on my heart strings. I hook onto him with nothing but the two lips, as he rises to savor the more of me, I roll from my back and freely fall from the window. I hold my arm out and let the Beast from downstairs take me away.

He runs recklessly on his hour limps, sweeps through the asleep grass down in the fields, and an uncontrollable laughter swell in me. There is no end in the sky, nor beyond Nopal. My laughter storms through the air, a serenade for no one else than Asra to hear in this no man land. I throw a glance back at Asra, he knows I want him to join me. The Beast trots back to Asra’s sanctuary, as Asra takes his time and hop onto him. He falls all over the place but manage to hold onto the horns of Beast. My hand hold onto the back of his neck, and I tilt back to kiss him on his lips. We do not know where the Beast would take us, nor that we care. I start to coil myself to him, giving him the trust that he would hold on tight enough for the both of us. His bare chest on mine, and the mental picture of the halves of our heart joining emerges. With half of Asra’s heart in mine, our heartbeat synchronizes, and it feels like our blood would join, that if death corrodes mine, he would pour life into me. 

The Beast takes us to the fringe of the forest which The Scrouge lives in. It felt like an intrusion of his peace, “Take us back. Please.” I therefore ask of the beast. The rocking of Asra’s body onto mine during the ride seemed to linger on forever. The motion of it never ended, and I see the returning of the stars: He studies it with Babylonian astrology, while I sink into my deep thoughts. “Let’s go back.” Exhilaration oozed out from Asra. “Are you disappointed?” He is not. He simply comes down from the high, and returns to contentment. I see the fireflies in the fields by the mental image inside his head, and how they buoy as the light lingers on his irises. He has been developing the synesthesia which I have. “I see you have made peace with nature. I haven’t. I don’t envy the inner peace you have achieved.” His soul is older than mine. I see through life, but he knows how to make peace with those truth.

Before his reply, I see the maroon aura in his thoughts. He knows that I already know the nature of his reply. He puts it into words anyways. “And this is why you need Julian in your life. His soul is younger. Still hungry for experience and thrill. In this life he would learn to understand human thoughts. He is still seeking independence and this is why neither of us can…” The core of Asra becomes heavy like lead, I hush him with a finger, and run it across his chest and limps. The tracks where i have caressed grow crowns of belladonna, those small bells of berries bloom like ornaments we wore to Nadia’s masquerades, or those he wore to The Coliseum for their trial. 

“Forget about astrology. Just look at the stars to admire the amazing work of nature.” The thoughts of Asra is like a trapezist that just let go, I seize his thoughts and continued, “Asra, one day we would have gathered enough experiences in this world, when we look up at the sky, we would not want to run off from you, because we would have seen it all. We would instead look inside ourselves, and marvel at the energy we have collected, and treasure the wisdom and peace of infinity. One day.” The depth of the sky intensifies in the both of us, I caress his occiput, running gently through the creamy white curls which he grew. “If we shall have a child, I shall like him to have the same hair as you.” Tingling sensations overflow in me, I ask, “Asra, if one day our soul is old enough to transcend to another dimension, I will meet you and maybe Julian there, right?” Peace settle in me. I know we would either reunite in joy, or we would be able to seek joy without having to contact. “My love for Julian started with lust, and it turned into obstinacy. As for you, it is a gradual process. I first knew I would find wisdom from you. Then there was this spiritual connection, and I think my love for you began in your realm.” The Beast is strolling now, we sit on him like two farmers on a common cattle. I hold out my palm to receive his hand. “Are you feeling better?”

He kisses the back of my hand. “Achaius, I’m at a lost of words.” He looks at my ankle, and I know the glisten of jewels are lingering in his thoughts. My ankle chain is made with his costume which he wore to The Coliseum. “I wonder if I have ever had a similar conversation with an older soul when mine was younger.”

We ride in silence. 

“Asra,” I call him.

He tastes the greed in my intentions.

“I need to do something in the village. If you would like to tag along, I would appreciate it.”


	2. The Fields

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The simple lives after defeating The Devil. That includes going to a brothel with Asra.
> 
> “I think you are playing yourself.”
> 
> I decide not to play dumb. “Because I like Asra, I like men and still I have sex with women?”
> 
> Asra picks up her foot and massages her like I usually do. Pamela holds up a finger and declares, “You either like men, or you like women. Of all the men I’ve seen, there is none that likes both, at least not equally. Unless someone is really attractive and misguide you, you would only prefer one.”

Nopal

The Fields

At a dimly lit cottage, a red head with swelling breasts pouring out of her corsets is waiting with one leg stomped onto a chair. “Achaius, how very delighting to see you.” She reaches for me with both her arms grabbing onto mine. “And I thought you would never return! But you came back with the other magician!” She eyes Asra with the corner of her eye. “Come in, and tell me what you fancy tonight.” She hurries us into the house out of habit, but she shall know that I do not mind being seen as debauched. I even pride it somehow. 

“Pamela, do you have anyone younger, like, new girls.”

She throws me a dirty look. Sometimes I envy her job; I like it when men are being straight forward about their desires. “Hmm…”

“If you don’t have younger than five and twenty, then just give me a large breasted one.” 

“I do. Have one. But I don’t have two for the each of you…”

“No. In fact I just want one for the both of us.”

My unique taste is rare but not uncommon to her. “If you want just one girl, we still charge you for two people. By the hour.” A cunning maiden half naked with only a loose pair of trousers on is passing by the corridor when fixing her long black hair. “In fact she’s the one I mentioned. She is three and twenty.” The girl shoots us a distant look, winks and disappeared into the room. 

“Actually, Pamela, can we have you, instead,” words slowly pour from my mouth, “if we want you? We can talk about the price.” 

Pamela shoots me a curious look, then at Asra, startled. She replies, “This way. Wait in the room, I’ll go for a shower. Unless you want to join me.”

“Life is always unexpected when I’m with you.” Asra says as he sits on the chair, playing with an apple in hand. “What do you have in mind?”

“What does it look like we are doing?” 

“So sex, and merely sex is on your mind?” He plays with his own lips with his thumb, hiding part of his face with an erect index finger. “I sense mainly greed, but not so much lust in your mind.”

“Really?” I stroll towards him to take away his apple, and take a bite when I sit down on his laps. His challenging eyes met mine. As I swallow I reach and kiss him. Gentle at first, but it turns into soft nibbling and a tug of war of lips and tension. 

“Should I not interrupt you, or should I join?” Pamela returns in a robe fresh from the laundry, she reapplied some red pigments on her lips, and she glows with the alluring aura of a grown woman. 

“Yes. Thank you for joining us.” I hold a hand behind my back for Asra, and takes him to Pamela. “You look beyond charming tonight.” I raise her hand and kiss on the knuckle on her fingers. I then run my fingers through the top of her hair to flip them away from her forehead. Never mind, I seem to hear Asra say, when I said I felt no lust in you, I feel it now. I close my eyes to kiss Pamela on her red lips, I smell the wood on her pigments. Her lips are soft, melliable, and her face warm with a velvety texture. I then proceed to kiss Asra, his perky lips are drawn with deep lip prints, his breath smells of herbs and the burning of cigarettes. I take them close to the bed, kiss them consecutively, and undo Pamela’s gown. Her skin is slightly saggy, and therefore soft to my touch. Her dark pink nipple hardens in the air, they seemed to be two clips pinning this droopy skin in place. I fall into the embrace of her opened legs, and lose myself in our kiss. I knead her breasts like dragging two bags filled with water back on a table as they are slipping away. I suck on it with the eagerness of an infant. As I am busy with myself on her breasts, Pamela begins pleasuring Asra, removing his trousers and does works with her mouth. Asra has never looked so young, and obedient. He looks at Pamela with the gaze he had when he respectfully talk to Nadia. “Pamela, can I…” I ask as I drag my nails on her abdomen. Since she is too busy to answer, she gives me sounds of affirming. Then I drag my nails on her thighs, which she twitches out of instinct when my fingers arrived. I fondle where I have trailed with care, and asked, “Then, can I…” I slap her labia. Her occupied mouth gives a high pitched squeal, and she nods to consent. I begin to stroke myself, and slap her breasts and cunt. The sight of a grown woman squirming and vulnerable to a younger man’s humiliation is a new sight to me. I insert two fingers into Pamela, not expecting these moisture and is therefore delighted. I paint her bits with her wet, and insert myself in her. She is skilled in this position, raising her legs so I can reach in deeper, but I had been in her place, and know squatting your legs does not make it enjoyable for the receiver. I then get hold of her legs, and suggest, “Relax. Put your legs on me.” I land her legs on my shoulder. Her cunt feels soft like Asra’s mouth, but without the teeth and has a longer end to accomodate me. I lean my head close to her neck as I rhythmically thrust into her, Asra misses her face and painted her face with her saliva instead. She turns to me and gives a very adoring squirm. I get a hold of her jaw, and ask, "Please, don't fake any screams. If you moan I want you to mean it."

"Of course. I forgot magicians are natural people readers."

"I don't care if you find no joy in this, I value honest more than feeding my ego."

Asra studies me, a thought settles in him and he takes his clothes off. The motion of it brings our actions into an episode that flows with fluidity. I lean my chest on hers, I imagine getting lost in the sensation of how her cunt fondles me. She growls, it draws me onto her face, her dainty eyes that gaze at me like I'm someone worthy to consort with, and I imagine how all those men in history that laid with their wives. The kings and the beggars in tatters, most of them craved the touch of women. They then watch their children, who give them a sense of hope into the future. In what scenarios I would have my own children with Palmela? She looks as if she has forgotten about Asra, and just looked at me with blunt honesty, with faces that looks like she is gasping for air. My cock is tingling with warmth, but nowhere close to achieving climax. I wonder if I should proceed, or am I doing anything wrong. After minutes of thrusting, I ask Pamela, "Hey, do you have olive oil, or grease somewhere?"

"Sure. It's in the drawer."

Without a question, Asra opens the lid of a jar under the table. I remember this skillful hands of his: his massaging my bum, and his slowly entering me. I sigh a high note of arousal, then he rams himself into me, and me into Pamela. We know that tonight is about my enjoyment, instead of theirs. When my climax is near, we carefully move to the floor without Asra exiting me. Pamela kneels on the floor, I hold onto her, and come onto her hair. I moan and beg Asra to come, but he know it is to spare me the pain. And he comes. I turn my back to kiss him, I wonder if I should do the same to Pamela. She glances up at me, her lip pigments are smeared, and dry scraps of saliva condensed onto her face. Seeing her naked in a frantic state arouses me. I begin to accept that women are races I start which I cannot complete. 

“Pamela, can I bathe you? Can we bathe you?” Asra could clean her with magic, but we know she would take a bath regardless - Bath is an experience, instead of mere cleansing. I hold her hand and kiss her knuckles. “Please, we have herbs that would refresh your senses.”

“Yes, follow me.” She takes my hand, she rises and stand. Asra holds up her rope, and she leads us into her tub. I grab Asra’s coat to prepare her herbs.

We light fire with spells with her pigment and warmed her bath. It feels poetic in my head. Asra lays petals onto her and add herbal salts into the bath. "Nevivon's finest bathing salt." Asra describes as they fall out of the bottle like falling snow. I wash her hair with soap. When my cum dissolves into tub water, I scrub her scalp, slowly applying pressures onto her acupoints. She grunts in elation, and I kiss her on the ridge of her nose. 

She flip my nose, and comments, “Achaius, you are a strange fellow.” 

“Am I?”

“I think you are playing yourself.”

I decide not to play dumb. “Because I like Asra, I like men and still I have sex with women?”

“Yes. There is nothing wrong with liking men. Are you preparing yourself for your wife?”

“No. I do not have a wife. My arousal to women is very real. It just cannot sustain.”

Asra picks up her foot and massages it like I usually do. Pamela holds up a finger and declares, “You either like men, or you like women. Of all the men I’ve seen, there is none that likes both, at least not equally. Unless someone is really attractive and misguide you, you would only prefer one.” She reaches out for my arm. “I am not those beautiful people. I am older now, I do not have the skin of those young maidens. Only older men likes that we are mature.”

“I think you are perfectly attractive as a woman, your maturity sweeps not only old men off their feet. How old are you?”

“Two and forty.”

“Perfectly charming.” I decide not to continue our debate, “Maybe you are right. I do not truly like women, and that is all.” I rub from the bottom of her neck up to the side of her temples. “How does that feel?”

“You have magical hands. I might be tempted to pay you in return for those massages.”

“You deserve them. Drop by our shop if we come back some time next year.” 

“You two are leaving Nopal?”

“Yes, and this one’s for the road.” I hold her out of the wood tub, and cleanse her with one bucket of water. I dress her with a new robe hanging on the wall. Asra and I clean each other with soap.

We pay her back in the room that smells of fluids and olive oil. The Beast awaits us outside, and I hold Pamela in my arms one last time. “Thank you for a wonderful time.” I kiss her velvety lips one more time, and leave riding on The Beast’s back.

 

“I can sense there’s something on your mind.” Asra notes as he kiss the back of my neck. 

“Are you going to talk me out of it?”

“No. I have something else in mind that you might like.”

“Good.” I warm his thighs up with my palms. “Did you have fun?”

“Most certainly.” A question is gathering and ready to hit like a wave. “You want a child.”

"We're homosexuals, Asra."

"Well, would you really call us that after what's just happened?"

Indeed. Not to mention I'm in love with Asra, and his spirit is a beautiful balance of male and female. I sigh. “You read my mind.” This is one of the moments when I feel like I have no privacy. “Maybe I did, when I was asking for the olive oil.” Asra nods. “I am unsure whether I like baby making or the baby itself.”

“Doesn’t matter. Nature does it wonders on our mind. Like seasons and weather on your moods.” Our minds drift somewhere else, but into the same realm. “Don’t listen to Pamela.” he suggested.

“Yeah. In literature, whores are often smart about human relationships, but somehow they often are close minded like the rest of everyone in reality.” I watch our legs dangling on the sides of The Beast. “It’s moments like this make me treasure our connection even more.”

My bracelet of his Coliseum chains silently glisten in the dark. We fall into sound sleep back in our bed and rise early in the morning.


	3. The Shop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simple lives after defeating The Devil.
> 
> "Julian, are you truly happy?"
> 
> "You have to be more specific then. This hour my tea has gone stale. This day you returned. This week you are almost late to the season opening audition. This month the gallery was burned down in flames. This year Portia has gone sailing without returning. This life I have a very peculiar dynamic with solitude. My answer varies to your definition."

Going South

Vesuvia

The returning route always reminds me of the first time Asra brought me here. It was after he showed me the colors in the cave. As we left, we first noticed the returning of Lucio, and his goat like phantom haunted Vesuvia. Instead of heading back to the palace, Asra summoned the Beast by water chestnut, and took me to the sanctuary for shelter. The cave glowed in fluorescent colors, like fireflies carried all their seeds and pollens. They now gleam in lucent mystics, white like Asra’s freckles, lip creaks and hair. I close my eyes when I hold my hand to touch everything: I could touch light. Asra hugs me from behind, and retracts my hand when a thorny vine is in my reach. 

We can go wherever we wanted, and among all places we choose to return home.

Our shop is situated in the alley beside the town center, facing down swirls of granite stairs, sitting half a town away from the forest. We reach there before evening, and we part with the Beast near the bushes. Asra lights his pipe and unlocks the door with keys dangling on his arm. I put down a safety charm on a counter, and sit on the windowsill beside the reading table. “I have some thinking work to do, can you hold my hand?” This is my habit. I have grown too close to Asra, I need to hold his hand and meditate when there is a storm inside me. Asra sits down, stables his forehead by the arm that lays on the purple tablecloth. He knows the routine. 

Thoughts?  
Three blocks.  
Wigs.  
Attic.  
More hazy afternoons.  
The pier.

As I plan the timeline in my head, Asra suggest, “Do you want a reading? You seem lost."

“No. The cards tell me to think. And to execute. In this life I know cards, but the cards only push me away.”

“Okay. They would be here when they need you then.”

I feel the presence of the Arcana in Asra’s pockets. I imagine him doing the paint jobs on each card, and how these cards transformed from mere papers into the spokesperson of magical realms by his fondles. I imagine them growing more powerful through the years, and who he would pass these cards onto. 

“I can count on you being home when I return, right? I plan to get you pumpkin bread. I’ve missed those.”

“Yes.” He seems pained by my question. “I won’t be just gone like I did. Even if I did go out, you can reach me through Faust. I’ll meet you in my realm. But I’ll be very likely just here waiting for business.”

I kiss him on the back of his hand. I like it when he can take care of himself.

 

A rat crawls behind a vase as I make my way to the clinic. I cross "Three blocks" off my list. The bell rings as I push through the door, Julian is charming his way to an old granny to cheer her up. Her tired brows raised in a laugher that is snorted out of her like a fart. Julian rises before she did, and walked her out. I suggestively lean on his bookshelf, I study him for a long while, unable to give a judgement. Two years, Julian has been a proper doctor in Vesuvia. His relentless soul would never be content by a stable life.

"Julian," I make my voice sound playfully villainous to prevent him from studying my intentions, "can I ask you a question?"

"Annnnnnnd now you're visible again. Hello Achaius." He lays his pen away from his scriptures, and continue. "What strands of thoughts about me is in tangles today?"

"Julian, are you truly happy?"

"You have to be more specific then. This hour my tea has gone stale. This day you returned. This week you are almost late to the season opening audition. This month the gallery was burned down in flames. This year Portia has gone sailing without returning. This life I have a very peculiar dynamic with solitude. My answer varies to your definition."

"After the Lucio. After you've opened this clinic."

"Do you want a precise answer, or do you want elaborate evidence?"

"I want honest answers."

"Very well then yes, I am happy." He leans on his left arm onto his desk, his light hearted smile gives no smirks or defensive grins. I believe that he is truly happy.

I do not understand. His thirst for thrill could not have ended with his tendency to self-destruct: To help Lucio find cures of the Red Plague, take in apprentices that he has no interest in training, submit himself to Nadia, submit Asra to Nadia for trial… He would sail off to the ocean and change cities every year, Nevivon, Vesuvia, Atapra, Port Tremaire; but not settle down and become a neighborhood man… And then it dawns on me. He has been curing people with The Hanged Man's spell for too many years, he wants to prove himself that he is still no less of a doctor. This clinic might stand for two years, but never a decade. He might think a quiet Vesuvia life suits him, but it is only because he has been deprived of it for so long. I decide not to ruin his illusion.

“Do you have time this afternoon? Do you want to go to the market with me today?”

“Anything for you, dear.” He leap to grab his jacket and ready to head out with me. Upright ending has made Julian soft and eerily cheerful.

It has been two long months in Nopal without Julian, but I did not touch him. I take his jacket out of his hands and sniffed it. It smells of his lower back. “I don’t believe you would need this. The sun is already torching out there.” My steps are lively as Julian locked the door. The breeze brushes Julian's chest hair, I keep looking back at him from the crowds, until I hit someone and hear the swinging of heavy chains.

Julian and I have bread. As I tear into the corner, grains of custard and flour scatters on my fingers. Mists of steam escapes from threads of grinded pumpkin fillings. I feed a piece to Julian, he takes a bite from my mouth adoringly, and chews without looking away. The haze in my mind finally stops being blurry, and I understand the mud that I am stuck in: How do I bring Asra and Julian close again? Do I invite them for sex, and let the ease pillow talk solve their hard feelings? Or do I ask about their past, and sit them down for a thorough talk like a decent human being? It pains me. I could not have asked for Julian’s consent before going onto the adventure with Asra.

If there was one thing I learnt from the adventure with Julian, it is that I could be open to him. I stroke his hair, eyes filled with pain. He shoot me his glance of utter shock, and ask if something is wrong. “Julian Devorak,” he nods with seriousness and eagerness when I called his full name, “you know I truly love you, right? Before you returned to Vesuvia and sneak into my store, before I attacked you and before you took off your hawk mask, I know I have fallen deep, deep for you.” He nods with the same sincerity.

“You were my apprentice, your affections must have lingered on despite the memory lost, right? I have always been sorry for leaving you in neglection, but knowing how you felt back then makes me feel worse for what I’ve done…”

“Maybe. Maybe my feelings for you began from there.” I feed him more bread. He eats without hesitation. “But you know I do. When I helped Nadia to investigate you, I looked at the way you fold your hands and how your angular jaw points to the side, and I always imagine, how one day I would be tired of this face. One day I would be tired of your charm, the way you speak, or your messy handwriting. But I did not. Everytime I look at you, Julian, it feels like a first time. I’m sick of bracing myself for a change of heart, and preparing myself for moving on. Because I don’t want to.”

“Then please don’t. I’ve only learnt to trust you, if you move on just like that after… After defeating Death, I don’t think I could trust anyone ever again. That night felt… very real. Our absolution felt stronger than the best love in theatres. If you tell me one could just move on from that… I…” He eyes drop like a fallen faith, I dropped my bread on my lap, reached for his cheeks and speak into him, 

“Firstly, we defeated The Devil. Secondly, that’s what I have been telling you. I don’t want to, and I can’t seem to move on.” I put his hand against my ribs, my heartbeat amplifies with the small trembles of his light finger touches, I confess, “I don’t know how this beats without you here.” 

He leans over, but withdraws when seeing I have no intention to reach for his kiss. But I hold him with my gaze upon his, and he grabs my hands away from his jaw to kiss it thoroughly. We both beamed at this intimacy we had, and I hold out my hand to ask,

“Would you like to take me to Rowdy Raven?” 

“My pleasure.” He grabs it and stands. “If you could catch me.”

“Not again.” I hop up to get a hold of him. The tip of his boots are pointy, the black leather has walked upon illegal markets, pirate planks and towards his death row. But now they bolt across the streets and alleyways like a child. I shake my head and followed. I would always follow, in case he hasn’t known already.


	4. South End // Rowdy Raven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simple lives after defeating The Devil.
> 
> "Julian's dancing is wild, seductive and free spirited when compared to Asra's. Asra is a constellation falling into place, while Julian is the filthy hallelujah clashing into blazes in Notre Dame. "

Going South

South End

I catch him when he catches his breath beside a garden fence. “You were right when you said I wouldn’t need a jacket.” He wipes away sweat from his philtrum, while I dodge myself away from his other kiss attempt. “What is up, my darling?”

“Haven’t been here since I got bitten by the goddamned fish.” Residential huts stands in dry clays with laundries hung above the air. I explore the streets with my palms scraping through the walls of these building. I might have avoided his question.

“Do you trust me?” He breaths behind my ears. My philtrum somehow also sensitive to the heat that we both radiates. 

“You know I always do.”

He has more trust than he needs from me. With a guiding hand from behind he leads me to a slope and slides down to an alleyway. Meanwhile I close my eyes. When we reached the bottom I could feel his face studying mine. Do you feel the unspoken rules among us today, Julian? I would trust you and follow you anywhere, but don’t try to kiss me.

 

South End

Rowdy Raven

He doesn’t catch me off guard and kiss me. He spins me around and taps my waist. “My prince, here is Rowdy Raven. We took a shortcut.”

“Of course. I count on you for secret pathways and connections to all thieves and pirates.” I swing myself under his arms and land it on my shoulder. “I’ve missed this.”

"We've been here?"

"Of course, you even sent me a postcard afterwards."

It clicks in his mind. "Of course. How did I forget." He rearranges his hair by grabbing a handful away from his forehead. Thin hair is dispersed from his brows, a few pores are gaping at the corner of the eye around a few freckles. It is details such as these make me marvel at how surreal Julian being alive is. If I shall hold him by his waist, I would feel his sweat; if I shall ask him anything he would reply. He is alive, and in front of me. Oh thank God he is in front of me. "I guess the trial was insane, those details seemed vivid, while the rest of the days," he scratches his knees, "you know. Are just days." Marching towards the bar, he leans his chest close to the stool. "What do you like to drink? Same old same old?" His determined fist slams the table, and I don't prefer otherwise.

"Same old."

Julian's eyes widen as he watched me churn the entire cup in one gulp. Same old smirk, Julian flashes me. He gulps after me, I raise two fingers at the bartender and point at the cups. He understands; I bet he has had many nights as these, leaving his limp drunk body as a statement of his sufferings. Has he been raped when drunk? Or at least been taken advantage of? I imagine his flushing red face laying on the ground, dazed eyes drifting in the candle lights as a guard or two drag his legs and throw him out. Or worse, drag him into some room and unclothe him. I imagine those legs, giant and hairy, lifted high up in the air; or him, thrown against the bed, a maiden sitting up close. Julian sits in surrender. Low humming a graceless duet of dopiness. My heart aches with jealousy, but I could never let him know; misfortunes are badges he wears as a monument of his sufferings. Suffer, suffer. He romanticizes his pain and imagine himself the protagonist of his own tragedy play. "Devorak. De-vo-rak." Julian leans on his palm, reflecting my gaze with an eyebrow raised. I imagine what this red-headed Devorak family looks like. Devorak men drinks. Devorak men fought in crusades. Devorak men fuck their wives and Devorak men grow body hairs of red. De-vo-rak; their surname had echoed through the walls of villages, and temples, and war fields, and bedrooms. De-vo-rak; what’s in this name? The hand, the foot, the arm, the face and any other part belonging to Julian. Julian Julian Julian. I want to take his surname; it feels like I could repeat this name again and again. Devorak; Doctor Julian Devorak. Doctor No. 69. Julian.

Band members of six enter with their instruments, and Julian exchanges nods with the bass player tuning his double bass. I toast with Julian, banging our jugs with a loud bang that rippled the foams. Chunking our second, I invite in his ear, "Aren't you gonna dance on the table or something, Julian?"

He leaps onto the bar stool and kicks our jugs aside. "Are you gonna join, then?"

I hold his open arms and spin myself into his embrace. "Been dying to."

"There he goes again." I hear a woman at the corner calls. Her friend cheers. 

"You always say no." Julian rubs the tip of his nose on my jaw. The air is young, his bass player friend strums a passionate intro and waits for our next movement. How I've dreamt and dreamt of this each time Julian's dilemmas hit me.

"Well I was poor…" My leg twists in Tango steps away from him, turning under his swinging arms I land my right hand on his shoulder. I lead. "Of skills." He slides his left hand from my pelvis bone to my waist. 

"Hello, Achaius."

"Hello, Julian."

Exposed through his poplin ruffle shirt is his bones shifts underneath his puff muscles. He composed his upper body with ease while his nimble legs kicks and whirl across the table. It brought me back to Nevivon's first ball after many years. We were still hunting for Lucio's ghost, while Asra showed me the most graceful waltz I have never seen. "How many years?" I asked him. "Five years?" Longer; he replied. "Ten years?" I fell back into those arms that once digged me up from the dirt and resurrected me; Longer, he insisted, with his eyes filled with faith. And the night seems to have never ended. Asra held me close the same way Julian does now, and on his brocade gown stitched with silver, I imagined what weights he has been carrying on those shoulders. I imagine the imageries of me covered in crawling necrophorus, eyes swelling red with light gone out, or me bawling in abandonment in Julian's once upon a clinic, or me laying my hands on his sacred deck for the first time… He remembers, and these visuals tanned him like sunlight on his skin. These are stories that Julian never knew. He dips backwards, swings his face at the audience and flip towards my face with his fleecy hair bouncing back on his forehead.

Julian's dancing is wild, seductive and free spirited when compared to Asra's. Asra is a constellation falling into place, while Julian is the filthy hallelujah clashing into blazes in Notre Dame. He picks me up onto his hip bone, swirls and wears my queue braid on his neck. He sits by the edge of the bar stool and leans close with me on his lap.

What's Devorak? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet. I pull him close by a tuck on my braid. I rub with the tip of my nose on the ridge of his nose, then the outline of his lip curls.

Blush for me Julian Devorak. Like you always do. And it's all you do.


	5. Mazelinka’s House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The simple life after defeating The Devil. That includes being on the doorsteps of Rowdy Raven. Drunk, my trousers untied, up close, tangled. Only our breaths, slowly running short, become the spokesperson of our thoughts. Julian, Achaius.
> 
> "There are things I feel sure about Asra Alnazar, but not Julian Devorak. His surname echoes through the vine woods, I see The High Priestess owl resting upside down on a branch, her throat bulging because she is resonating his name. Devorak. Devorak. Devorak. With Asra behind me, I step in closer to investigate, but a cloud blocks my way. It holds a hand out, offering me a cup. I try pushing through the cloud to get to The High Priestess. Getting frantic, I take a turn and kick over something; two cups spills water while one more bleed onto the grass."

Blush for me Julian Devorak. Because it's all you do, and because it's all I can ever do.

I remember first seeing your face, at midnight, you were an uninvited guest intruding our shop. You were sly, blood dripping down your forehead because I punched you. You said I had guts, same old cunning smirk like the pathetic world amused you. And you released whatever beast into the river. I carried its wounds while we fled running towards South End. How did we end up where we are today, Julian?

I snatch his jug from his hands and finish his drink. He orders another round. And another. He grabs me by my waist while I lean my head towards the walls outside of the bar. I try to aim and not pee all over the place. I grunt when the stream dries, my dick twitch at how it tingles. I wonder if Julian finds that sexy.

I don’t remember most of our journey together, but I remember fragments, and how I enjoyed every moment of it. Julian turned himself to Nadia. Julian confessed his crimes. Julian masqueraded as a bird… No. As a raven which Asra gave him. Asra.

I do not remember how, but I remember finding out Julian and Asra had a past. And my heart ached with physical pain. I thought to myself that I shall not intrude with this love. Romance is their own private party, not mine. But I just followed him around, blindly, faithfully, wholeheartedly, willingly. Happily. And I would do it all over again if I had the chance. All he did was causing trouble, and making evidence his presence is only hurting me. Then pushing me out of his way. But I always clean up his mess, and he always came back for me. All I did was trying to bring out the best in him, and all I did was to make him blush.

I remember the first time I made him blush. I found him at the doorstep of our shop when I returned from the palace. He was acting suspicious so I searched him. I undid his coat, patted him all the way from his shoulder to his crotch. Underneath his crotch. “You aren’t afraid of getting up close, huh.” He is a wanted man with a price over his head, but all he could do right there in the middle of an alley was to stand with a face burning fiery red. I never knew I could bring such reaction from him, ever. It was the most precious expression I have even seen from him.

No. There was another face I saw from him which I treasure most. The Devil dragged us into its realm, and tricked us with all kinds of visuals and fear. I did not know what The Devil showed Julian, but I remember standing in a false The Hanged Man’s realm, I was made to forget Julian’s name, and was not in time to call him from distance. “Julian!” It echoed in my head for hours, but he was already out of reach. Julian made a deal with The Hanged Men, the hanged raven, he said he would stay. He said there is nothing on Earth to make him stay. 

My faith in Julian shattered this false realm, and I fell into another realm looking like our shop, but covered in ash and tatters. And there Julian sat, his eye patched snatched from him, both his pearl white and swelling infected eye were pouring with tears as he wept. For me. “It’s you… You’re finally here…” There was this infant quality in his cries, I would give him a thousand, a million hugs to comfort him if I could. I turn around and reach for Julian, surrounding my arms around his broad shoulders and his ribs. He holds on even tighter lest I might fall. I bury my face onto his neck and gave him dearing pats on his back, soothing his breaths like how I couldn’t back in The Devil’s realm. And there we were on the doorsteps of Rowdy Raven. Drunk, my trousers untied, up close, tangled. Only our breaths, slowly running short, become the spokesperson of our thoughts. Julian, Achaius. 

 

Mazelinka. Her house. She isn’t home, Julian drags me through her window.

“Why won’t you let me kiss you?”  
“Another time, Julian. It’s a long answer.”

I could smell Mazelinka’s feet. And herbs. And sweat. It must be the end of her bed.

I low hum. In elation and in pain. The room spins.

I growl louder than necessary, but I was furious. Why won’t Julian be in bed? He wouldn’t be giving me wet towels. He doesn’t bother telling anyone we’re here and using her house. Then why he isn’t in bed? Fucking moron. Ju-Li-An-De-Vo-Rak.

I tear his shirt off him, and might have broken a few threads that sew the buttons together. I tow his trousers off him with more force than necessary, because for fuck’s sake. Give me your steadier hands and help me. I pull his face away from mine by tugging on his hair. I just grab a handful, and pull. Kicking him off when he reaches for my crotch. Deary lord I was rocking hard. Oh how I was hard. I dangle my leg ankle on his bare ass, caressing my leg with his cheeks full of butt hair. Knowing I don’t want to have sex, he just slowly grinded on me with the rocking motion of my leg. Our uncut cocks felt like two rods of jade wrapped in silks, I hold onto my conscious by following Julian’s whimpers of slow breathing; but the abyss took its tow on me, I drift off...

When I woke up Mazelinka was here. I was still naked, with a morning wood laying on my stomach. Mazelinka is a blanket and a living room away from my boner, I thanked her for accompanying us, put on trousers, and decided to go.

“Please tell Julian that I would be watching him at the theatre tonight.” I take off the red cloth on the end of my queue braid, tie it into a red bow and handed it to Mazelinka. “I’m sorry I really need to be alone now.”

On my way home I comb my braid away with my numb fingers. The sun blazes my eyes and my pulse jumps on my eyeballs. I promised to get Asra pumpkin bread so I walked to the market place despite the headaches. The spices in the air made my nose unbearably itchy. I wanna scratch it until it bleeds and fall off. I bang on the door to our shop. I have more strength in my hands than I imagined. As I sat down the bread was out of my hands, so I sat confused. “Anyways, Asra, I am sorry, I said I’d return but I didn’t. I got bread but then I lost it. I just wanted to get drinks with Julian and then one thing lead to another.”

“Yes, yes you have told me this story, when you met Muriel at the door.”

“When I met who?” Oh the Scourge who I ought to forget. “Yes. Okay. So I went back and gave you bread, but…”

“Yes. I know. The bread is here. You gave it to me when we were talking to Muriel.”

That’s why. That makes more sense. “Yes.” I reached for his free hand as he leans onto the counter, “I am sorry. I just. I’m a bit of a mess right now. I just have a lot in me and then I forgot I said I’d come back.” I turn to the stairs and trudge into our bedroom. “I just… really need to.”

I plunge into the bed, a tinnitus hits me like I hit the bed. I tow my trousers down and begin stroking myself. My head toss and I smell Asra on his pillow. I drag it above me, breathe in his scent and pretend he was laying on top of me like Julian did last night. I pick up the pace and began squirming. I don’t mind Asra hearing me. I want him to join, but it seems all too rude to ditch someone then ask for sexual favors. My crotch is on fire, my fantasies run wild imagining the moulds on Asra’s waist and the dimple on his tortilla cheeks. I imagine how his butt would look like when grinding onto me… While suddenly Asra paces into the room. As quiet as a shrewd fox he quietly kneels between my legs. He lay his hand on my thigh, which sends a chill through my body, as he asks, “Can I help?”

“You’re not angry?”

He takes over my cock, shakes his head with his lavender eyes staring into mine.

I nodded in silence, stroke his creamy white hair and thrust into his hands, eager to please. I became unfiltered, moaning in pleasure if he rubs the right spots.

I come. Shooting out fluids just as equally creamy. He catches them with his mouth, and let me shoot with my dick inside his mouth. Those eyes of his that glisten continued to look up at me, in temperance, kindness and adoration. I could almost see the kid in him again, that day in his realm we saw him chasing The Magician, and learning to summon a cyclone or a statue made from water. He looks at the world in contentment and amazement with those deep lavender eyes of his, and somehow that makes me feel whole. I beamed at him genuinely, and he reflected the same smile on that face of his, with a scoop of my cum on his philtrum. I seem to hear him say, “You don’t need to say it. I feel it. I love you too.” I sit up and grab his face towards mine to kiss, and as our lips touch, I feel our heartbeat synchronizing. He lays me down, we both laugh at how the tinnitus return as my head hits the pillow. Of course he heard it. I thought of the Sixth Major Arcana and marvel at this must be how this card feels like. Our hearts, took a stroll down The Lovers’ realm.

 

There are things I feel sure about Asra Alnazar, but not Julian Devorak. His surname echoes through the vine woods, I see The High Priestess owl resting upside down on a branch, her throat bulging because she is resonating his name. Devorak. Devorak. Devorak. With Asra behind me, I step in closer to investigate, but a cloud blocks my way. It holds a hand out, offering me a cup. I try pushing through the cloud to get to The High Priestess. Getting frantic, I take a turn and kick over something; two cups spills water while one more bleed onto the grass. I received the cup which the cloud offers, hoping to clean the blood off the grass. But as I turn around; all that was ever spilled are merely water. Just water. 

I thought I had thick red blood in my cup. But then the aroma lures me to take a sip. It is merely black coffee.


	6. Community Theatre

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simple lives after defeating The Devil.
> 
> Polyamory is work. Healthy polyamory is work. Non-concensual polyamory is merely cheating.
> 
>  
> 
> "Julian pick one rose up, pluck all their petals up in one tuck, and throw them at the audience; he kisses the remaining stalk, and tosses it afar. He's always a drama queen, always a dearie."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writer's note: I suffered a serious headache in my right eye after writing this chapter. I am unsure if I have been looking at the monitor for too long, whether I pictured too many scenes in my head, or whether Asra's memory is simply too vivid. Thought some could use this reminder.
> 
> Also, someone bookmarked After Arcana, and it means the world to me. This is my first work. I appreciate all the kudos and bookmarking. Thank you.

I woke up with a jerk of my knee, a nauseous reflex rushes up my throat and Asra smoothes my back. I rub my tongue on the roof of my mouth, the after taste of the coffee lingers, but there was nothing in my mouth. I swallowed and catch my breath. "I'm alright."

The afternoon sun is lucent, through the purple curtains the room is blue. Asra applies cream to my scalp, wipes the edge of the blade, and help me shave the front of my hair off. A question waves within Asra, but he decided against asking it. 

"You can ask me." My stares leave the mirror and reaches my lap, my bulge humbly asleep in my underwear of white.

"I…" He holds his breath to shave beside my hairline, wipes the residue on a towel next to us on bed, and ask, "Why do you keep the queue braid although you don't live in your country? Is this a patriot act or just for aesthetic?" He wipes the cream off my jaw and continue, "Or maybe it's your identity?"

"I don't particularly feel for the Qing government." Drapes of hair fall onto my shoulders, I hold up a bundle and drag them onto my sides. "Maybe it's the aesthetic, yes," I brush Asra's hand with the end of my hair like a broom, and continue, "I think it's my tie to my heritage. I've never been to The Oriental. Or China. If that's what you call them now. Do we have Chinese porcelain inn Vesuvia?"

"Just that one sitting downstairs. I don't think we have many of them in Vesuvia. They're worth something." We move to the kitchen and he washes my hair with soap. Then he braided my hair from behind. I put my puffy shirt and floral waist coat on then we set sail.

 

The community theatre is filthy, the drapes are greasy to touch, older men of three sits at the front role rambling about Vlastomil being a cuck and the sexual scandals of Nadia’s sisters. The lights dim and we hush each other. A big chested men stands and perform his satire comedy speech; while Julian seduces him with a finger lingering on his shoulder. Julian wears his blonde wig, with my red ribbon tied at its ends on the side. "He's a woman!" An old chap calls, slamming his knees laughing. Cheap form of humor, Julian. I rolled my eyes at it.

"Oh you must be new here, darling." Julian comments leaning on the strong man. The audience laughs in familiarity. 

"Yes he's not from Vesuvia." His friend cups his hands and call from the auditorium.

"Oh we're hosting tonight it seems. A visitor! Where are you from hun?" The strong man puffs his chest out with arms folded, flashing a smile to a girl charmed by his biceps. Julian stands on one leg, tugging a loose strand behind his ear. His androgyny takes over his manly legs in heels, his physicality is like a perfect Greek statue, while his blonde side ponytail and aura is blooming in confident femininity. I'm unsure if it is a comedy act or it is his expression. Not that he might be sure or wants to know. But his lips pouts in his shading and maroon lip paint. He is alluring.

"Nevivon." They two echoed.

"Nevivon!" Julian is shocked, placing his palm on his chest. "I come from Nevivon!" He throws in a dumb mom joke to the interrupter and one southern Nevivon joke. The audience laughed. Humanities never change. Julian is good with crowds; or Julie, as he calls himself in the stand up. It is a simple comedy show, about a domestic husband and wife. 

Audience threw flowers and they bowed. With their hands covering their chests. Julian pick one up, pluck all their petals up in one tuck, and throw them at the audience; kisses the remaining stalk, and toss it afar. Always a drama queen, always a dearie. He jumps off the stage and reach for an affection hug from me. "How's the hangover, tough stuff?"

"Dearie Lord, stop." I want to tuck away my hair but there is none. I scratch my forehead instead. "Let's get something to drink. You. Him. And I."

Julian flashes his glance as Asra, the stutter of Asra's heartbeat tucks on mine. Julian clasps his in front of him and reply, "Sure." He looks around. He waves strong man goodbye, and include both of our shoulders in his open arms. He leads us into the backstage, the one I always visit him at, and he packs; cosmetics, wigs, money, dagger. He unties the ribbon from the blonde hairpiece, and laces it back on my braid: He pulls my waist close from behind, his fingers sweep from my neck to get a hold of my braid, and roll down those firm loops done by Asra. He reaches the knot, instead of untying the cloth, he twirls my red thread above it. Swiftly he attaches a splice or two, and smoothens it with the rest of the tail. He then sweeps it to the side, and slides it down the side of my neck. His hands sweeps from the side of my waist, and engulfs me into his warmth. He kisses me under my ear. Our eyes meet in the dressing table mirror, our heads tilting like the divas with excessive beauty to waste; we understands the power of youth, overwhelmingly breathtaking, but in vain as years go by. I thank Lord everyday for being youthful with Julian. I then understand that Julian's beauty is not as effortless as I imagined; he disguises his swollen eye with those red curls on his forehead. Only with his witty dazed eye, he admires the sight of us on this vanity mirror. We're drunk on youth, a lot, a lot of youth. My glance shifts to Asra standing in the shadows behind us. He is lost at the sight of us too, his heart a cyclone of drowning rosé. And I fear for us for the first time ever. What if we cannot live harmoniously, what if jealousy and past fury gets into the way, and what if their love has died down. What if I was selfish. What if Julian is selfish. What if Asra becomes selfish. What if i should have said something before tonight.

Just what if.

My face turns to Julian, his breaths are up close, I could smell the grilled fish in his dinner. I flip away his curls, shut his eyes close. And tenderly, I give a lingering kiss to his swollen eye.

And all of a sudden I understand the subtext I am sending, "I forgive you for leaving me during the Red Plague.

Do I really? I still don't know the whole truth, but Devorak, I sympathize. With your decision. And there is one person I cannot thank enough in the Red Plague. He resurrected me, and brings me life to where I am at now.

I, Achaius, I cannot be without Julian Devorak and Asra Alnazar. One cured the Red Plague, and one refused to give me up when the plague killed me. My thoughts are calling to Asra, he steps towards us, and I have fallen limp because of my gratitude. I becomes vulnerable and needy in this embrace of three. Asra plucks an arrow stone from his bronze necklace and offers it. I take a deep breath and accepted it. A vision takes over me, I see my naked body in a dug up grave on the outskirts of the woods. The sky is a cursed shade of ashes and lilac. It must have been Lazaret. My torso is the shade of a giant bruise, but my face is like a burnt charcoal of pitch black. My eyelids are dwelled with a velvet of wiggly yellow larvae. Asra barked in desperate howls, howls I cannot ever imagine coming from the throat of temperate Asra. Asra adjust the mask covering his face, making sure no bugs could enter his breathing tracks, then wipes the larvae away from my eyes. They roll of like dried pus, but those drapery cheek muscle of mine dislocates, it slides off from my skull and mature necrophorus rolls out of my disjointed mouth. Asra feels a bug crawling inside the sleeves of his shirt, unsure to withdraw or adjust his protective suit.

He was expecting a frightening scene; he is digging up a decomposing corpse after all. But the visuals of it catches him off guard. These eyes… were made for appreciating beauty, for painting him, they studied his tarot deck like they were fine art, they wept for Dr. Devorak and stole secretive glances of admiration when he dated the doctor. They were made for finer things than larvae. This nose had allergies, these mouths croons the best lullabies, these cheeks used to be mischievous, I used to brush the tip of my queue on these cheeks like a playful maiden… It broke Asra. Where do I put this body once I dig it out? How far have the necrophorus digged inside of me? How does he hide this body before the resurrection? Would this body break apart if he dragged it up? For once, Asra is paralyzed by helplessness. Would these necrophorus be inside me once he has resurrected me? He doesn't know. He just sat there, broke down crying. Those tears that streamed down are contained in his hawk like mask, as his head shifts they roll on his jaws, growing tepid with the passing of time. He doesn't care about bugs crawling onto him, chewing onto his hair. His dreamy, creamy hair. This memory is coated with linen and linen of hate. This hate dwells in him, intensifying with each ripple of thoughts. The hate lingered onto Julian, but it soon turns to the perpetrator. Lucio, Count Montag, he doesn't deserve to be king. In becoming a king he brought the plague to these people he rule upon. Lucio; Lucio.

Lucio.

I hold onto this stone blade with all my strength, the stone might crush or might cut skin deep into my palms, but it keeps me from trembling. "Achaius, are you alright? Do you need a chair, do you feel like fainting?"

I run out of breath, but stood quite steadily in this triangle of men I hold dear to heart. "No. I feel alright. Asra… I'm at a lost of words." Words could not express my gratitude, I could only beg Asra feels it in his half halve of heart.

"Some magician connections just happened here, I can tell." Julian circles us together with his drawing fingers in the air. "It seems serious. I don't understand a thing but I… I can tell."

"Don't mention it, Achaius." His glances bounce to the ground. "If your death could bring upon this reaction from me, it means your presence matter to me. And your presence is what I am grateful for. I… I would do this all over again. I…" he exhale a large breath of air from him. "I, obviously don't want to go through it again. But you understand what I mean. I, value you. So don't mention it." I rush into his arms and smoother his back. I hold onto him with all the strength I have. Our halves of heart connects again, his heartbeat is wretched, but sturdy. All those years of replaying that scene has left him in apathy, but apathy from fatigue.

"I love you. Asra. And please know you are irreplaceable. Forever and ever."

"Thank you. Achaius."

"Thank you. Asra."

 

We recollect in a hug, and we stand in silence for a long while. 

"I guess it's time we have that talk. You, Julian and I." Asra taps my back, and invites. "Let's go somewhere quiet. Not some bar. Not some restaurant. Not here."

"Maybe our shop. Or Portia's. Or the clinic." I suggest.

"We're not drinking." Asra adds. "Not a single drop. We're gonna do this sober."

Julian wipes his philtrum, "Promise. And no avoiding uncomfortable conversations." He eyes Asra when keeping his hand over his mouth. "Better be blunt than holding back."

"And when it touches an old wound, we remain in the same room and count down to sixty." I say. "But before we go, I just want to add, I haven't been my best self because I didn't say anything. I did not agree to being exclusive, but I should have at least said something." I steady my gaze on both of them. "If you want an apology, I would gladly and sincerely offer one."

Is there a need for one? I do not feel it in the air right then. I am then glad I didn't just drag them into a threesome and let the sexual dynamic resolve this. We agree to settle this over at Portia's


	7. Portia’s Cottage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life after defeating The Devil.
> 
> Six of Cups. Nadia reads and scratches her temple. "Is this a love reading?"
> 
> "I think so."
> 
> Nadia's glance jumps to Julian then back on Asra. "I'm not surprised." She laughs in bittersweetness, Asra reciprocates, brushing his raised eyebrows and so did I.
> 
> "What? Is this some sort of magician inside joke or is it about me?" Julian's embarrassment boils into annoyance, and he stamps the table with his fist, "Come on! I demand to know what it means."
> 
> "Right, right." Nadia rubs her eyes and explains.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a chapter that ties up loose ends. I have been away studying Wiccan and Tarot, and I apologise if some of the following interpretations aren't doing the cards justice. This is written before I studied Tarot very seriously. You can skip the forest or tarot scenes and the story could still make sense.

Ten at night. Cockroaches of two wanders the vacant stalls of fruit markets. Half of the Market Place refuses to say goodnight, and bustles into the darkness. Greasy water streams down into the sandy road, staining our heels stepping towards the palace. Beside the rose gold gates of the Vesuvia Palace, we take a turn into the woodlands, lanterns of ripening tomatoes guide us further into the forest. The fireflies disappear from the mangroves that night. There seems no forest creatures accompanying us, while a raven brushes behind Julian. "Malak?" Julian grabs a burning wand and marches towards him. I chase after him, my steps could fly, like I am Achilles with wings on my heels. Having gotten used to Julian's sudden temper, Asra merely follows; Scout watches him intently from afar, as he fades Asra finds himself walks one foot into the water. 

The splash of water echos through the darkness. Julian turns around to offer help, but Asra is getting his feet back. Occupied by their own thoughts, Asra trips and falls on his back; and Julian finds himself stepping his heels into the same pond. "No. It's alright. I got it." The feeling of being watched directs my attention to a bush behind me. A pair of glistening eyes watches me with intent through the leaves. With deep growling breaths it reveals itself as a lion; it has teeth to slaughter, but eyes made to read and understood. I approach him, placing one hand on his forehead, its shaggy fur slouches down; and with another hand I brush along his manes, finding his bulging veins on his neck. I ask them later if they saw the lion, an alive lion just several steps away from us; but apparently they see their own visions. Julian felt every joint of his angel wings; as he spreads them high up to the sky, the silence of the night stokes a soothing harp chord in him. Asra swears there was, instead, a trumpet in Julian’s arms, as he lay in the pond, watching Julian inverted; Asra raises his hands to point the trumpet out, but those fingers surrender into a hand reaching into the air. He recognizes this sight. Although not from his deck, realms radiate the same energy despite pictures.

With its ribbits a frog protests us disturbing the night. Asra’s scarf and saffron hair float with the ripple of the pond. I hold a hand out to pick him up, but he reaches, and sink his hands onto his chest again. His gaze drifts off to the land next to me, it softens as his brows scrunches in nostalgia. “What do you see, Asra?” 

“Six of Cups. You are giving me one of your six cups of flowers.” His hand drifts into the water.

“What flowers are those?” I watch him float on the pond.

He steal a glance on his fist. “Roses.” He splashes his invisible cup into the pond behind him. His eyes retracts with defensive blinks, like it was raining roses from the sky. 

“Do you experience a lot of those?” Julian kicks up a ripple towards Asra’s face. 

“Usually in realms, or dreams; not so much in real life.” A smile blooms on his face, he helps himself up and begins splashing at Julian in return. Julian scrunges as the water hits his face, he shakes his hair back, he cups his hands together and create a splash that cuts through the air with a swoosh. Asra shakes his head in disbelief, stepping out of the pool when I march in and hold him in place.

“Come on, don’t turn away from a battle. No turning away.” Julian’s eyes are frantic, hungry for fun, they bulge like they might just fall off as he squats to scoop up more water.

“Exactly, don’t be an boring old soul, our role here is to make you move your asses up here and actually have fun.” I wrestle Asra into the water while he resists, Julian approaches us with a water pouch in his palms, ready to squirt with pulse. 

This playful tension loosens Asra up, he wiggles in my arms and protests, “No, this is two against one. Faust, squeeze!”

“You have this thing up in your pocket all these time?” This surprise catches Julian off guard and pushes him off balance. He tiptoes his way out of our reach, while I approach and attack him in return, “You call Faust ‘This thing’? Have some respect!” I climb above him to make him slough, “Faust has a name and Faust’s a she. Faust, squeeze!”

Julian yelps in fear, which creases me up. “You want a war, misters? Then be prepared for war.” In Asra’s hands, there pours a sploosh of water cyclone which he summons by magic. Meanwhile Faust slithers up Julian’s calf. Julian stands unsteadily so I hop off him. 

“You’re not the only one here that knows magic, Master.” My palms become two fountains with water dancing in grace. Julian could not help but watch when struggling, and cheers,

“Oh Yes! Master versus apprentice. I’ve been waiting for this show forever. Yes!”

“Speaking of apprentice that means it’s me versus two. That’s not fair.” I shoot him a side glance, water splashes towards him but opens down above him like an umbrella, or a shelter. He is first shocked then looks up with amazement, while Asra throws water at me like cannonballs. I feebly receive them, then summon threads of water surrounding Asra like ribbons on threads. They climb above him and surround him like a tower, then water closes down at Julian and Asra at the same time. They both stand there, eyes closed with a dumbstruck expression on their faces. 

“Sploosh!” Faust hisses, wiggling that adorable tongue of hers.

“Game on.” Asra nudges his head, with a cocky face as if Lucio just agreed to dirty-combat with him.

“Shit. Shit shit shit shit. Now you two I’m a doctor and you guys are magicians. I’m a doctor. I’m a physician doctor!” Julian hops to his escape but I block his way out of the pond with a wall of waterfall. 

“I don’t care, you shattered The Tower yourself, god knows what else you can do.” Glancing back, Julian looks like a trapped mice. The four of us wrestle in the water until it was late. We proceed to the cottage. We hang our soaked shirts on our shoulders, hand carrying our socks and shoes. The forest includes us back into the animal’s embrace, and the moon dissolves itself into a cup of sky. 

 

The light is lit in Portia’s cottage, we approached with caution and peeked through the window: Nadia is dusting for Portia. The cottage remains the same as Portia has left it, Nadia did not replace any of the humble interior with her lavish decorations. “Should we wait? Or should we greet her?” I ask. Julian sneezes and I could not let him wait in the cold. “Sneeze again. Make sure it’s loud.” He soon does. Nadia peeks from the wooden door and we greet her Highness. We remember how Portia agreed to go on a date with Nadia before she set sail two years ago; Portia seems too elated in her royal mission now, to even return and redeem that promise. Nadia is left sleeping alone in bed by yet another beloved. Milady.

Milady, Milady, Milady. Portia’s calling to Nadia seems to echo through this room and bounces off the floor. Nadia invited us in, and this dustless room feels as if Portia never left. These Nevivon siblings are more similar than I imagined: Both born with fiery red hair, both works for the royalties and therefore speak in a posh accent; then they are both born with a relentless love for adventure and the ocean. Before Nadia excuses herself Asra asks if she has a Rider Waite tarot deck. Nadia shyly admits her Highness began doing her reading in this cottage because this is where she could withdrawal and meditate. Meanwhile we squeeze into a circle of spell to dry our clothes. 

"We had visions in the forest. Would your Highness like to help us interpret it?" Asra suggests. 

Nadia takes a deck off a bedroom shelf. She sits us down at the kitchen table, and sniffs in the wooden scent the utensils give off. Her graceful hands shuffles the deck, her oval nails look like pearls in shapes of almonds as they shift through a table of blue tartan. "The past." Nadia describes as she drags the cards into a long thin concave line, and Asra drags out a reversed The Hermit. 

"I was expecting Temperance." 

"I saw Scout. In his grey hood and wand. He watched you in the bushes." I say as Julian draws. 

"Hello, old friend." Julian blooms a smirk as he shoots The Hanging Man on the table like a dart.

"Hey, be careful." Nadia orders as she moves on, "Now self."

I draw a Knight of Cups. I feel Asra's heartstrings being tucked on as he peeks at his own card, but it sinks when Julian leans over at Asra and displays, "I believe you're looking for this." Temperance. Another card slides from behind and Nadia catches it.

Temperance. A serene angel with wings of red, standing with toes in the water but another foot on land. Julian slide the card towards Asra, when Asra slides his towards Julian.

"I know. Because I saw you." The other face of the tartan card reveals a reversed Judgement. The same angel blows his trumpet, families of young and old reaches their arms towards Angel Metatron, waiting for their judgement and arriving heaven. That serene face reflects on the second last major arcana, not so kind, not so forgiving after all.

"Julian's challenge. Knight of Wands. Thrilling ride, but would it last?"

"I have a future card." Asra pulls my Knight of Cups close, and reveals, "then you gave me the cup."

Six of Cups. Nadia reads and scratches her temple. "Is this a love reading?" 

"I think so."

Nadia's glance jumps to Julian then back on Asra. "I'm not surprised." She laughs in bittersweetness, Asra reciprocates, brushing his raised eyebrows and so did I. 

"What? Is this some sort of magician inside jokes or is it about me?" Julian's embarrassment boils into annoyance, and he stamps the table with his fist, "Come on! I demand to know what it means."

"Right, right." Nadia rubs her eyes and explains, "Asra, used to be in your head too much and acts so little. So wise but withdrawn from the world. Still avoiding your life lessons and soon to encounter an ex-lover." She raises an eyebrow to Julian. And then I remember. Back in the Palace library, Julian's notebooks showed me visions, of some velvet afternoons they lavished on each other. Sun buttering their young bodies and bathed them in a borrowed peace. Julian studied, Asra meditated. They were young and in love; until it turned sour and they weren't anymore. The memory feels like a sacred backdoor I shall not visit; my heart aches in the same sore of raisins in spring. It must have vibrated into Asra's halve, he grabs my hand discreetly, comforting me. "Julian. Good job. Used to indulge in self-sabotaging, but you've learnt your lesson. And now you've gained temperance. Might be temporary, but now you're just feeling serene."

"You did grow." I encourage him. I imagine waking each day as Julian in the same bed, with a sense of responsibility on his shoulders: Grannies that need constant health check, drunken seamen that break bones and infect their feet, feverish children and concerned mothers… He drinks another cup of morning coffee. Scraping sounds of wood when lifting a window. Warmth of early summer sun, northern to his senses but enough to make him feel as home. I imagine Julian falling in love with a life like that, with me, maybe with Asra and then the theatre. 

"But, Julian, your obstacle or challenge." Julian leans in intently, "Your thirst for thrill and adventures. All those doing before thinking. You're a fiery ride but would you last like hellfire? I don't think so. Achaius doesn't think so." Those wise eyes of Nadia's. She indeed is The High Priestess. Knowing emotions sometimes more than I do. "Then Achaius. Romance for romance's sake. Love for love's sake. Life is a living love scene especially with drama queen Julian around. Why do you only have one card?"

"I… I forgot to…"

"It's okay let's start over." Nadia picks up pace, her every move glows with the confidence in her intuition and leadership. She sweeps the cards into a line of possibilities in tartan again. I draw three card. 

"Self. Knight of Cups. Obstacle, reversed Six of Cups. Future, strength." Her Highness sighs, "Achaius. Emotional pretty boy getting too nostalgic of the past. Now you need to solve what you've been postponing to face." My instinct calls me to several cards on my right. I have no questions in mind, but answers call for me regardless. Reversed King of Cups. Reversed Seven of Cups. Two of Cups. Reversed Ten of Wands. Reversed Four of Swords. Reversed Eight of Swords. Seven of Pentacles. I grow reckless. Ten of Swords. The sun sinking among all cards of grey skies. Ten of Pentacles. "Achaius. Stop. The tens are all out there." I flip one more. Wheel of Fortune.

She studies my cards. "Oh God Achaius. What are you going through." 

I actually knows what those cards are all about. “You are tired. In love, but overly emotional. Tired. Unwilling to leave. Unwilling to accept how a cycle works.” Asra’s lavender eyes drifts off from me, like I just broke some protocol. 

"It's late. I shall go back. But please join us for breakfast in the morning. I believe you shall have a lot to talk about." Nadia gives a conclusive look at the three of us. We agree to breakfast and then said good night to her Highness.

 

"So. Let's begin with this tough talk that we should have had a long time ago." Asra brings up.

"I shall begin." I clear my throat. "I am in love with the both of you. Asra, you provide me with the stability which I lack, and our spiritual connection makes me feel whole. I am deeply fascinated by you and I don't want to leave your side. Julian, you remind me of who I want to become, and how effortlessly you are yourself just amazes me. I feel like my life would not be wasted if I have you by my side." I look at them to make sure the messages are well received. I set the agenda and continue, "I know that you two used to date, and it did not work out. Asra wasn't available, while Julian has his own agendas and assumptions. But after defeating The Devil, we all grew and became better person. I want you two to be friends again. Or if possible, if God allows, I want to be lovers, the three of us."

"Is that why you won't kiss me or have sex with me, Achaius, that you choose Asra over me?"

"No. Cross my heart, hope to die." I remember the day when I fed him pumpkin bread at the stairs and told him I loved him. "Knight of Cups. Never loves the same way twice, but just as passionately and intensely." Asra gives an understanding nudge. "How about you two tell me doubts you have or questions you want answered, before we move on?"

"May 1686, when Achaius arrived Lazaret as a volunteer, and 18th April 1687, when Achaius actually died there, where were you, Julian?"

"At the palace."

"Finding the cure."

"Yes."

"What did you think about his decision of going to the Lazaret, and him dying on the island."

"I was mostly thinking about myself, but not Achaius at the moment. I did have guilt, yes, because I did not train him well as an apprentice; if he doesn't know the precautions and catch the red Plague, yes, I think that is on me. But there is a death count, which was soaring everyday. Lucio was a madman on the throne, cutting loses, then turn back murmuring and howling in his room and down the den. my den is connected to his room, I heard it all; I did. My studies are pinned with papers, maps, torn pages, lap reports, then there's me trying to find a correlation, trying to run tests with thay cannibal Valdemar, who I'm not sure if she wants to cut people open and eat them, or to actually find the cure. Everyone was cutting loses, Lucio is sending infected people to Lazaret, which, on hindsight, is practically an altar for whatever God he worshipped that feeds on human. It's a difficult time, I could only count on people making smart decisions, alright? I told you I'm not good, I'll drag people down. And if you can't be smart and stay alive, then I warned you, I'm a hurricane. I can't save everyone. I have to look at the bigger picture, find the cure, which could save Achaius' life if you think about it."

"I think it's not about saving. It's more about abandoning. If you feed someone you lock up in a den, yes you keep him alive, but you aren't giving him a life. That's all."

"Wait. I want to have a say." I reflect on what they discussed. "I don't remember what happened in those years. If a master abandons his apprentice, life goes on. I'm not the only kid on the streets anyways. Julian abandoning me to save the Red Plague, and Julian not wanting to train me are two matters. I was young and didn't know what to do when Julian stopped training me. Maybe I wanted to help out, and even had a death wish, and that's why I went to the Lazaret. I didn't have much to live for." I look at Julian. "But, Julian. I think it's worth discussing why you didn't train me properly, and didn't do anything after my death. And you could make it up to me, or even Asra one day."

"Well, you have a pair of cold hands. And you were this exotic little thing. I thought I could train you, and you were eager… Maybe I was that knight card. Do before I think. I've taken you in for two to three years, well then Asra and I became a thing and life was great in Vesuvia. Then the plague happened. Then it just seemed normal, I went and help Lucio find cure, I won't get you in the laboratory to chop people up with a cannibal. It got busier and Asra could look out for you, I thought. I hit roadblocks, didn't make much progress for years but hey at least I didn't get killed. Then I found out Lucio is behind all these, I thought, I didn't imagine my Vesuvia chapter to end with me murdering the king, but life takes you to weird places, you know? So I packed. Got my blades, ready to kill him but the room was already on fire. Guards saw me and I could only run, to the deck then never come back. Switched cities for a few…" His eyes light fright then drift into sadness. "A decade. I thought maybe ten years, a country could cope with a plague." 

We sit in silence, our brains take a stroll down memory lane, with very little pieces coming to mind because of the erasure magical spell.

"What about you?" Julian places a hand on Asra's lap. "I heard you've been out of reach. Kinda have a mysterious vibe, yeah?"

It's not up for debate. He has been. Asra laughs, starting into distance to search for words. "I… I was never prepared to take in any apprentices, you know. I'm always a bit alone." He licks his lips when he stutters for words, "Somehow people suck at grasping meaning, I just prefer silence to being misunderstood. That's why I'm friends with Muriel. He doesn't assume things."

"Do you feel like I misunderstand you?" I ask Asra.

He searches in his mind, "You are, you're a real Knight of Cups by heart, you seek to understand, and I love that about you. And I missed that from my parents." He glances down, "So like I did my best. When Julian's away, I saw how intuitive you are and taught you about The Arcanas. When you died, I…" Asra shakes his head, "When you were resurrected, there's news that the murderer Doctor 69 Devorak fled, then I took you as an apprentice and taught you everything I know. Spells, potions, cooking, crystal balls, voodoo, magic oils. I made sure you could stand on your own two feet, and I always come back." He looks at me, "I do try, like I try sharing Nopal with you, I want you to come explore my realm with me. I don't know if it's enough, but I do try. You know?"

"Of course I do." I grab his hand and nod, "And that's enough for me. I love those moments together." I feel like a child facing his parents' broken marriage. "Julian, Asra, I wanna know what makes you mad or what do you love about each other."

Julian leans his head back on the table, his Adam's apple stands out from his slender neck, its outline is seductive and masculine like a horse neighing into the air. "To be honest I just wanna have sex and avoid this whole conversation." He looks up at the ceiling and continues, "But that's like not healthy at all. Like that's my go-to move. Tired? Wanna escape? Then just have sex." He sighs.

I stare into nothingness, the room stays silent and a sigh breaks the tension.

"I just wanted to prove your stuff bullshit, you know." His words are thin, because he lays his head on the table. "Like fucking magic? Like, I just thought you'd be fucking high on mushrooms. Fortune telling. Everything could be relevant if you trust it enough. I, like…" he stutters, "I didn't buy any of that. I even challenged you. But you just seemed so sure of what you do. And maybe, I don't know. The world is just like some wonderland to you. You're like some little fox just knows its way around and your shop is like your den or something. Maybe I don't trust any of that. I don't think burning some twig is going to make the village healthy, but I don't know. Maybe you could trust it for me. And the world doesn't seem so boring after all." In a room full of magicians, his skepticism seems defiant somehow. He licks his lips and continues, "And you just bugged me. I think after a certain time of fixating your mind on someone and beating them up in there, you have to admit you're just attracted." 

"Arrogante." Asra is soft spoken about his accusation. "I like how naked you are in front of me." He chuckles to himself. "I don't understand how people can proclaim something ignorant with confidence. And you make a lot of bold statements." His thoughts are flowing like following a thin stream of mist down a labyrinth of memories. He shakes his head, his smile heartfelt and bittersweet. "But you just throw in every passion you have in you into everything. You dance like it's the end of the world, run like it's the end of the world and the sun is going to engulf you. You ride like it's the end of the world. And you're reckless like the world is ending too. You're like this big scream into the void. That's…" his lavender eyes are condensed with tenderness, he continues, "The way you treated me makes me feel loved." Their eyes met, Asra nods and averts his eyes away. Asra laughs, he said, "You're a lot of work. You were. I meditated a lot back then. But yeah. Maybe I pitied how much you liked me. Then it started reciprocating when I saw you really try."

"You pitied me?"  
"Yeah."  
"I guess I did too."  
"I bet you did."

The content of speaking the truth settles in them. Their glances meet for a second, and there they are, they are grown man becoming their own paths and own beliefs. One burns sages and meditates as a flock of birds soars across the sky somewhere, one lives with a pocket full of sharp knives and sweats with the aroma of beer he drinks. They no longer drowns in young hormones which drove these two men together who live by different rules to compete with each other, and there is this beauty seeing them becoming to each his own. 

It is late. We are all preparing for bed, we linger around the cottage, around the bed and the sofa, until later when we all become comfortable with the idea that we all want to sleep in the same bed, with each other. Portia's blanket is not quite big enough, we turn the blanket horizontally. Masculine legs of six, with ugly or opal toes and leg hair, dangle outside of her blanket, and we drift off to sleep. I wake to various kinds of bird chirping and dainy morning light shining in from the window, it is early so I wander in Portia's garden. The morning breezes stir the oak tree leaves high in the air like gemstone curtains swaying in the wind, I allow thoughts to swim in my head like a tank of goldfish, and I observe them, but they stop as I was lost mesmerized by the shadows of leaves high above. The world is alive, the world is a labyrinth meant for one to get lost in. I lose track of time but it is still early morning, my steps are light between the fields and on doorsteps. A soft creak moans when I slowly push through the door. With Asra's hand on it, Julian's arm becomes some sort of planchette heart that sweeps across Asra's outter thigh through the blanket like an Ouija board. The answers are theirs to read and I give them space. I go on my morning solidary walk, and meditate to the haze in the royal woods.


End file.
